Loyalty of the Dying
by Amashelle
Summary: I'm sure it's been done before, but here is my version of the death of Boromir. I've now added a chapter on Aragorn's thoughts, as well as one for Legolas. Gimili soon to come.
1. Fight to Survive, Fight to Die

Disclaimer ~ The characters, setting and events are all J.R.R. Tolkiens, only the words belong to me.  
  
I knew it was comming even before the first arrow struck. There had been an evil presence in the air that even my pathetic, human scences could pick up. My shoulder aches, but it is my left arm, and it did not peirce my heart. I can still fight. The little ones need me to keep going. In the corner of my eye, I can see them as they send stones flying through the air, doing their best to help me in the battle.  
  
Another arrow imbeds itself into my side. I can feel the loss of blood as it begins to affect me, as the dizziness poors into my mind. Yet still I fight, it is too late to turn back.   
  
Desperately, I try to get the hobbits to safety, but the orcs are relentless in their fight. They will not let me escape alive. Why they do not attack the halflings is beyond me, I cannot focus. All my concentration is centered around the fight. Block, dodge, attack, kill.  
  
I fall to the earth. There is a third arrow now burried in my chest. It has pierced my heart. I can feel the life draining from me. It will be over soon. The orcs rush forward and take Merry and Pippin. There is nothing I can do. Then the demon walks slowly towards me, confident his task is almost complete.  
  
Without warning, Aragorn emerges from the trees! I do not see the battle, my vision is fading. Soon. Soon I will get the death that I deserve for betraying the trust that was placed in me. I only hope that I managed, in some small way, to redeem myself in the eyes of the other two. Whatever anyone might tell them, I hope that they will know that I was willing to die for them.   
  
That I did die for them.  
  
Aragorn is trying to save me. To heal the wound in my heart. He does not understand. I am beyond aid. I tell him to leave it, to let me die in peace. I ask him where Frodo has gone. He tells me he let him go. A sudden respect for the ranger who abandoned Gondor flares through my heart. He managed to let the young man go, where I was ready to kill him to keep him here. If anything this man before me has done in the past is as noble as this, and even if it is not, then he is truely a great man, surely worthy of the crown.  
  
I reach desperately for my sword as he tells me that I fought bravely. That I kept my honour. This doen't mean much to me now, but I want to feel like I died fighting, weapon in hand. Clutching it to my chest, I acknowledge Aragorn as the King of Gondor. With my last breath, I inform him that, once all was said and done, he had my alleigence. He had my loyalty and, in the end, he'd gained my respect. 


	2. Musings

Disclaimer ~ I don't own the characters or the plot, which belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, but I do own the words.  
  
I watched silently as the life flowed from my companions eyes, rendering them empty and dead. Leaning down, I kissed the man's forhead and closed his eyes, no longer wishing to stare into them.  
  
'May you find peace.' I muttered, standing. I knew I should feel more regrett at his passing, but my heart felt cold, as dead as the broken body that lay at my feet. Somehow, I convinced myself that I was simply in denial, but, in my heart, I knew that was not true.  
  
I turned away from the corpse, then realized with shock that that's all he was to me. A corpse, an empty shell that had once held life but now lay sprawled in the earth, the black arrows of the Uruk-Hai still protruding from his body.   
  
People say that when you go through hell with someone, you and that person will forever be bound together, but if all we, as a fellowship, had gone through had not been hell, then I do not dare think of what might be. And yet, I still felt nothing. No emptiness, no regret.  
  
Boromir had died, and I knew what it was he'd been trying to tell me as his life seeped out in the form of blood. He'd changed his mind about me. I should be king. He now wanted me to take the position that I had fled from for so long. And still, there was nothing.   
  
I thought of Frodo, still bearing the burden of the One Ring. That shiney golden peice that Boromir had tried to take from him. That I had thought of so much since I had met the hobbit. But I had let Frodo go, something that Boromir, in all his glory, could not do. At last, I felt something, but it wasn't sadness. 


	3. What if

Disclaimer ~ I don't own the characters or the plot, which are property of J.R.R. Tolkien, but the words are mine.  
  
I had arrived too late. For all my elven speed and skill, I had arrived too late. From where I stood among the trees, I watched as Boromir's usually bright, excited eyes dimmed and faded into the nothingness that comes with death.   
  
After Gandalf's fall, I had had to convince myself that he would be the only one of the fellowship to leave us. It had taken many weeks, but I had managed. Now, I would have to do so again. If I do not, then I shall despair, and then, all will be lost.   
  
I feel dirty. As though my hands have been stained with the blood of both my comrade's deaths. If I had but been a little faster, if I had just turned left rather than right, perhaps I could have arrived in time to save Boromir. And, before Gandalf fell, there had been plenty of time to reach him, to pull him to the surface. Had I been a coward then? Would I ever know? Somehow I doubted that I would. Even Galadriel's mirror did not have the power to tell me.  
  
I closed my eyes and muttered a prayer, just as I had after Gandalf fell.   
  
Despite myself, I wondered who would be the next to die. Would it be me? Would I care if it were? I had lived for many years already. There were some, the hobbits for example, who were but children compared to the rest of us. Their deaths would truly be tragic, and I hoped that I wouldn't have to witness such things.  
  
I thought of what would happen if Aragorn or Gimli were to leave us. In the beginning, I would not have minded if Gimli were to die, but now... now I could not imagine the fellowship without the dwarf. I realized with some shock that I had come to consider him one of my dearest friends.   
  
And Aragorn? If Aragorn were to fall we would be lost. He is our leader, and no one can take his place. Unlike when Gandalf fell, there is no one to pass leadership on to. I am not a leader, I am a warrior, a prince. I am not king. With luck, I will never be. I cannot say how Gimli would take the burden of leadership. Perhaps he would be capable, but I doubt it. Thus far, he has proven himself to be like me, a follower. Perhaps even an advisor, of sorts.  
  
I had to tear my gaze away from Boromir's form. There was work to be done. We needed to find the others. The four hobbits are the least likely to survive long in the wilderness alone. 


	4. Honour and Strength

Disclaimer ~ The characters, the plot and the setting were all created by J.R.R. Tolkien. Only the words are mine.  
  
Never had I known a man as brave as the one I now saw laying at Aragorn's feet. Never had I understood a human as I did him. The race of men has always been complicated, not like dwarfs or elves. But Boromir had been different. Some would say he was more complex than most. Perhaps it was because I had known him for so long that I had come to understand these complexities.  
  
In the begining, his quest had been to save his homeland, but it had been too great a feat, and hope was fading from his heart. The ring had offered him the chance to bring hope back into the soul of his country. He had been strong to ignore its call for this long.   
  
The captain of Gondor had been a lot of things that I can but wish to become. Few things frightened him, but if they did, he would voice his fears. Not in so many words, of course, but one could dicsern the meaning behind many of his objections. He had been something of an idol to me, and now he was gone.  
  
My heart was heavy with grief as we set about placing the man in one of Galadriel's boats. Alongside him, we placed his weapons, and the horn of Gondor, now severed in two. We did not speak. There was nothing to say. At last, we put the vessal into the river and watched as it driffted towards the falls and then over the cliff.  
  
'Boromir, Captain of Gondor' I thought, 'May you find the honour you deserve.' 


End file.
